inPrototype: then spoke the thunder
by Jonn Wood
Summary: A mashup of everyone's favorite games featuring superpowered men running around in the Big Apple and laying waste to everything in their path which were released in 2009.
1. 1:01 I am Alex Cole

Based loosely on the video games "Prototype" by Radical Entertainment (published by Activision), and "inFamous" by Sucker Punch Productions (published by SCEI). InFamous 2 is out June 7, 2011. Order the "Hero Pack" and get a Cole's sling pack, an 8.5 inch figurine, and other goodies!

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><p>I wind up in a rusted world with eyes shut<br>So tight that it blurs into the world of pretend  
>And the eyes ease open<br>And it's dark again  
><strong>-Linkin Park, "Frgt10"**

**inPrototype Arc 1: Hyacinth Girl**

**Chapter 1-01: I am Alex Cole  
><strong>

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><p><strong>31 Aug 2009 1031<strong>

**Monday**

It was dark.

The young man blinked. Still dark.

He was lying on some sort of flat, hard, cold surface. The room he was in was very cold, and he could sense something above him. And something to the sides, nearby. He stretched his toes out; more cold metal.

Oh.

Oh no.

The man craned his head upward. There was the faint lit outline of a rectangular shape, where a headboard might be on a regular bed, and he pushed his hand against it. The light grew brighter. There was a dark spot along one edge; a lock. The young man banged on the door.

"Hey!" he yelled, and coughed, his voice raspy. "I'm in here! I'm not dead! Let me out!"

The door rattled with each blow, and the man's breath came faster and faster. He was still breathing fine, and he knew, intellectually, that there was plenty of air, but that was only because no one else was using it.

_Focus._

The funny thing is, the thought wasn't quite his. It's like something whispering from the back of his skull, or the voice of someone speaking right next to his ear.

_Identify vulnerabilities. Identify your strengths._

The vulnerable parts of doors were usually the hinges or lock. He was awake, but didn't have much room to move. He could wave his arms around a little, if he was careful not to hit his roommates, and his knees and ankles could flex. The metal tray under him couldn't be used as a tool-

Wait.

The young man reached "up" for the frame around the door, and braced his feet against the wall. He found that the tray he was on had a few inches of space to roll back and forth. Taking a few deep breaths, he moved it against the wall, and shoved-

The crash sounded like a bell going off right next to his head. If there was anyone out there, they'd doubtless come running. Possibly with a shotgun. The man smiled in the dark as he repeated the process. And again. And again until his arms were tired, and he looked up.

There was something wrong with the lock.

By contorting himself, the man could just see it. Nothing visible, but when he pushed against it, it had a lot more give than it had previously. Good. He tried to get his fingers in the gap, see if he could lever it open somehow, and to his surprise, the lock gave. He pushed harder, and it gave more, until it couldn't even pretend to hold open the door anymore.

The man rested for a few seconds, then slid the morgue tray out and promptly fell off.

It was his own fault, really. His muscles weren't quite working properly, and he had just been using them to slam a morgue tray into a door. Of course, given that someone had probably thought he was dead, it was a wonder he was able to stand, however shakily, at all.

He checked himself over; about 5' 11", athletic build with lots of upper-body muscle, full range of movement. A climber? Eyes seemed 20/20, and his nose was functioning properly. Nothing to taste, aside from something vaguely coppery that had apparently left his mouth recently. His voice...

"My name is-"

He bent down, and then stood up with his toe tag.

"Cole, Alex J."

Tagged 28/08/2009. Sex: Male. Race: Caucasian. Status: confused. Currently a guest of the ME at St. Jeanne's General, Empire City, New York State.

How did he get into the drawer in the first place? If it was a prank, why strip him naked and lock him in? If he had been drugged or been drunk, why wasn't he feeling any residual effects? Aside from that licked-penny taste, his mouth was perfectly fine. Anyone who could've been drunk enough to think that shoving him in that hole was a good idea was someone he probably could've overcome, and would at least have fought against, but he had no marks of a struggle. And if they had shoved him in awake, why had he blacked out? Why couldn't he remember anything about himself? What if he had anterograde amnesia, not retrograde? Why could he remember the types of amnesia, but not his own name? _What was going on?_

_Orient_, said the voice.

Cole looked around. He was clearly in a morgue. He shivered, and spun in place, looking at all the plain black bags on every surface that would take them. There were dozens of bodies, some stacked on top of each other like firewood, some in smaller bags than the others-

He bent over as something hot surged up his throat and out of his mouth. The puke spattered on his leg, and even as he clutched his stomach he realized that he needs clothes if he's going to leave the morgue.

There's a massive stack of files on the nearby desk. Whatever event had caused someone to think he was dead, it was probably generating a massive amount of red tape. His file was about halfway down the pile, and he yanked it out, ignoring the slide of paper to the floor. Not like anyone would notice the mess.

His next of kin was listed as Ezekiel Mercer, with a number.

"Tenpin Lanes, how may I help you?" said a raspy voice.

"Hi, this is...Sylvester Cooper. I just woke up in the hospital, and the doctors say they need the bed."

"Were you in the blast?"

Sure, why not?

"Yeah. I've been out since, and I was just coming into town to see Zeke when it happened. They say I need someplace to go -"

The man on the other end of the line chuckled. "Haven't looked outside lately, have ya, Sylvie?"

"I prefer Sly." Alex rubbed the back of his neck. "And no, I haven't. Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Zeke's boss. I opened up so he could take a look at the ball-return on lane 3. He just left, and I was just about to lock up."

"Crap. He didn't give me his address, and my cell phone got stolen, and all I could remember was where he worked."

"You must be close, if he told you that much. Got a pencil?"

A few seconds later, Alex said "Thanks," and hung up.

There was a map in the top drawer, and a magic marker. He almost put an X over Zeke's house, but the voice started screaming at him about _tactical knowledge_ and he figured it was trying to tell him that if he dropped it, it would be easy for someone to figure out where he was going. If would be better if he just kept it in his pocket -

Oh, right. Clothes.

The bag with his name on it held some light khaki slacks, socks and sneakers, and a polo shirt in a hideous shade of teal with a cadecus (if that was the name) on the breast pocket, as well as a mangled nametag - "ALEX" - beneath. They were all in one plastic bag, while a sling pack was in another, with an occupied cell phone clip on it.

Alex used some paper towels and the sink to clean off his leg, and pulled on his clothes.

They had to set up field morgues after Hurricane Irene hit New Marais, and that was probably where any morgue workers would be.

The shirt might make people think he was a doctor, draw attention to him. He pulled a greyish sweatshirt out of a bag at random. It had a pair of dragons on the back, and covered the ugly work shirt nicely.

Had he in to New Marais during Irene, or had he watched it on TV? He could remember names, faces, rows of silent body bags, but if he had been there, he wouldn't have been allowed that close, right? He had watched TV shows, seen movies, knew who the President was, but the facts and memories and experiences had all the emotional attachment of eating tapioca pudding.

He couldn't even remember if he liked eating tapioca pudding.

Alex tried to turn on the cell phone, but the battery was dead. A half-dozen more, from the bags. All dead. There was a wallet in his pants pocket with an ID card for Mercury Medical Couriers, with his name and picture on it.. Five dollars, eleven cents. A Visa Debit. A picture of a blonde woman. Assorted business cards. The sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

Oh _crap_.

Cole slung his pack on and rushed for the double door into the hallway. As he pushed through it, he found two men in suits and dark glasses, coming from the direction of the doors with the sign that said "EXIT" above them.

Both men pulled their guns. Alex noted, as time slowed down, that the nearer one, in a black suit, started to reach toward his hip rather than his shoulder holster. It probably meant something, but he couldn't focus on that as time resumed normal speed and sent a sizzling energy through his limbs.

"Freeze!" yelled one.

_Obfuscate. Misdirect._

Lie.

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_, man!" Cole said, not entirely faking it. He yanked his hands up, close to his body, like a character out of a sitcom. "I didn't do nothin'!" Y'all work here? Y'all the guards? They called me to ID my brother's body, but ain't nobody in there, and there's a...morgue...drawer...thing with its door hangin' open."

Grey Suit's eyes narrowed. "Check it out."

Black Suit lowered his weapon, and Alex stepped back so he could get to the door. "Be my guest."

The Suit peered around the doorframe, then advanced into the room.

"What did you say your name was?" said Grey Suit.

"Zeke Mercer. My brother is-was-Alex Cole."

Grey Suit stiffened, and took his left hand off the gun to pull out his cellphone.

"Hello? This is Goodwin. We've got a guy down here at the morgue, ugly shirt, says he's Vulcan." A pause. "I know, which is exactly why I'm calling. Check the transponder."

The person on the other end of the line responded.

"All right, we'll bring them both in. Just take him when he gets home." He pocketed the phone.

Black Suit exited the room, and stood in front of Alex, looking right at his colleague. "It's clear. He either left or was taken, but we don't have enough men nearby to sweep the building."

Grey Suit ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Fine. Sir, could you come with us, please?"

Alex came to a rapid conclusion.

These guys had just let him learn at least one name, and that they were trailing Zeke. Which meant that they were either incompetent, or there was no way he was going to get to walk free.

Cole grabbed Black Suit by his near shoulder and shoved him sideways toward his partner.

He had been expecting to get a foot or two of breathing room so he could come up with something clever. He wasn't expecting Black Suit to fly through the air like he had been hit by a car. Grey Suit hadn't been expecting it either, so when the other man careened into him, they both staggered a little. By the time either of them had thought to slip their fingers inside their trigger guards, Alex was already there.

_Control. Strike. Redirect._

His left hand grabbed the top of Black Suit's weapon, keeping him from bringing it to bear. His right arm snapped forward and back, the elbow strike rattling Black Suit's skull. Then he grabbed the grip of Black Suit's pistol from the bottom. With a twist-and the sound of a breaking trigger finger-the weapon was liberated.

Grey Suit had already started to bring his gun up around his partner. He had stepped to his right, and was trying to aim the pistol one-handed, a snarl on his face. Cole snapped a kick with his right leg to Black Suit's rear, hoping to get the nearer assailant to stagger and trap Grey's gun arm against the wall, at least for a second.

He his foot hit Black Suit's lower spine and he felt something break, then the man was thrown towards the wall, his head hitting hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster before he collapsed.

Both men stared for a second, stunned. The gun slipped out of Alex's hand.

Grey Suit recovered first, and almost bought his pistol to bear on Alex's head before Alex caught the arm and trapped it under his own. His right arm reached for Grey's face, pushing back on it, gouging into one eye, and Alex's badly-aimed knee strike hit Grey in the thigh instead of the groin. The Suit felt the impact, but didn't go down, his free arm trying to pull Alex's hand off his face. His own kick was much better aimed, and Alex sucked in sharply as he kept pushing. There was probably some sort of fancy Kung-Fu leg sweep or Karate backflip for the situation, but his mind had gone blank and all he could think to do was hold on and try to force the other man over. He just wanted him to _stop_ -

A spark appeared on his hand. Both men froze.

Lightning pulsed out of Grey's head and into Cole's hand, and the other man started to scream. Cole yanked his arm away, but the other man kept screaming, and his eyes rolled back in his head, and the lightning kept going. His arm was hot now, and the electricity kept arcing from Grey to Cole -

_My name is James Goodwin, 1st Biological Warfare Command._

_I am waiting for a plane._

_My brothers and I stand on a tarmac, in our custom gear. The sun beats down on us, and despite the rubber HAZMAT suits we're encased in, we do not flinch, do not scratch, do not move._

_"Gentlemen," asks Sarge. "Who are you?"_

_My voice rises with the others, a defiant shout for the ears of the Enemy._

_"When we hunt, we kill!_

_No one is safe!_

_Nothing is sacred!_

_We are the First Watch!_

_We are the last line of defense!_

_We will burn our own to hold the red line! It is the last line to ever hold!"_

_I can tell Sarge is smiling, under his mask. "That is _exactly_ correct! Now git on that plane! Double-time!"_

_"Hooah!" we say, and hustle out to the transport._

_We do good work._

_Good work._

Alex was saluting a wall.

He blinked, and lowered his hand.

_I had to pick up Jimmy again. Gina said she was busy._

"No," said Alex, his hands already reaching for a wheel that wasn't there.

_The pool boy's truck is in the yard as I pull in, and I swear I see a fluttering at our bedroom window. I clench the wheel a little tighter, imagining its her neck, before we get out of the car._

_I give Jimmy a piggyback ride, just because._

Alex could feel the weight of the boy on his back, the warmth in his chest at his love for him, the tension in his neck at his cheating cow of a wife -

_I walk in, and she's just coming down the stairs, her hair a mess. The kid is outside, running the skimmer over the pool. He glances inside, gives a nervous little wave and a smile._

_"Hi, honey?" she says. "How was your day?"_

Alex's hand was on his son's shoulder, the dining room table between him and Gina.

_I can smell it on her. Her smile is false, and so is mine. Jimmy looks from her to me._

_"Jimmy?" I say. "Why don't you get started on your homework?"_

_"'Kay," he says, a little uncertainly, and leaves me and his mother alone._

_Her smile wavers, like a candle in a breeze._

_"I wanted to talk to you about the poolboy."_

_She's a terrible liar. Well, except for that one time, at the altar._

_"Wh-what about?"_

_Instead of answering, I cross over to the mantelpiece. There's an award I keep there, an M1 rifle on a marble base with a brass plate. Marksmanship. _

_The award rocks under my hand._

_It's heavy, and I already know where I would have to grip it, where to bring it crashing down on her skull, how it would break like an eggshell while she screamed and screamed -_

_Jimmy doesn't need to talk to me through a glass window._

_I lift my hand from the statue._

_"I'm firing the poolboy." I say. "What's for dinner?"_

_Maybe I'll just kill _him_ instead._

Alex blinked. His hand was out in the air, like he had just lifted it from the statue on Goodwin's mantelpiece. Also, his brain was telling him that he was standing in Goodwin's living room. His brain was also telling him he was standing in a morgue hallway. His brain resolved the situation by activating its standard procedure for conflicting inputs, and Cole threw up.

The funny thing about trying to stagger to a sink while your brain tried to tell you that you were simultaneously a borderline sociopath at his home in Philly was that it made the problem worse. It was bad enough standing still in two places at once, but now he was both moving and _not_ moving at the same time. He didn't even make it very far past the doorway, staggering and falling down, and he laid with his cheek against the cool tile, trying to force his perception of reality back into order. He needed to start with something small. His name. He'd start with his name.

"I am-" His mouth tasted bitter. He swallowed. "I am James Cole - no! _No!_ I am Alex Cole! Alex Jabez Cole!"

_You're a freak. A monster._

"Shut _up_, Goodwin," Alex said to the dead man who lived in his head.

Something roiled in him, and he dry-heaved toward the floor. There was a drain in middle of the exam room, he noted. It was real. The hallway was real. The floor, the drain, those were real. He held on to the knowledge, used it to push Goodwin back into a dark corner of his mind.

Cole crawled back into the hallway, slowly. He might've have just assaulted two federal agents. Why did he attack? Why didn't he ask for ID? Why didn't he even ask who they were? He might be an amnesiac terrorist, for all he knew.

_They were threats_, said the voice, and Alex shivered.

Black Suit was dead, but Grey Suit just kept staring and twitching.

They're in a hospital. Grey would be fine. It was self-defense. Someone would come down soon.

It was self-defense.

Alex tried not to look Black in the eye as he reached into his jacket, tried to keep his hands from shaking as he pulled out the wallet. The ID card only said "Dept. of Homeland Security", and basically said "bend over" to anyone questioning their authority in anything from a terrorist attack to a tree-planting ceremony. The picture in the card was of a younger, more hopeful man, hair in the same buzz cut he wore now. The man in the picture didn't have the slight greying at the temples, the age lines on his face.

Alex double-checked the printing date on the back of the card. The picture had been taken five years ago. The man looked almost forty. He looked around twenty-five in the picture. Goodw — Grey Suit didn't look much younger in his ID than he did in front of Cole, barring the drool running down his chin. And "1st Biological Warfare Command" definitely wasn't under Homeland.

So what was going on? And why were the wallets so heavy, and why wouldn't his hands stop shaking? And why was his heart beating so loud?

He dropped the wallets and looked at his hands. They seemed normal. Flesh and blood. Except for the part where they seemed to be super-strong, and had apparently just sucked a man's soul out through his face in bolts of lightning.

Very carefully, Cole cupped his face in his hands and screamed into them. His hands smelt mostly like hands, with a faint scent of burned wiring. He pulled them away from his face, and noted that they weren't burned, not in the least.

_Protect assets._

Zeke.

They were going after Zeke.

Cole scrambled to his feet. He shoved the IDs into his pocket, and, on impulse, relieved the two men of their weapons and holsters, stuffing them into the backpack. He pushed through the doors at the end of the hall and stopped dead.

No wonder no one had noticed the screaming. They had their own problems.

The parking lot and grounds of St. Jeanne were filled with sick and injured. Some in tents, some in cars, some just lying on the ground. There was a doctor's tent nearby, but it was full to bursting, and even from halfway across the parking lot, Alex could tell they were working as frantically as possible, but they were just overwhelmed.

There was a young woman lying on the grass nearby, staring at him, drool running out of the corner of her mouth. A fly landed on her eyeball.

She didn't move.

Cole ran a shaky hand through his hair, and looked for an exit. The people had left the ambulance lanes clear, but the exit was guarded by men in camo with M4's and gas masks.

Alex decided it would probably be a good idea to avoid them, and slipped out through a crack in the fence, one hidden behind a bush on the outside that stood on the edge of a vacant lot.

Before he made it to the street, someone had already noticed where he had emerged and started to drift toward the hidden entrance.

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><p>Note: More info can be found in my forum. Just lookit my profile for the link.<p> 


	2. 1:02 Veni

Disclaimer: The writer would like to serve notice that the story will be held together with large quantities of fudge. There will be fudging. So if you'd like to complain about factual inaccuracies in the precise amount a WW2 English Jerry Can could hold or something, you might want to stop reading now. The idea is to give the _illusion_ of accuracy without necessarily having any, much like a Michael Bay movie.

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><p>Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father<br>Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers**  
>-Florence and the Machine, "Dog Days Are Over"<strong>

**Chapter 1-02: Veni**

**31 Aug 2009 1126**

**Monday**

THE END IS NOW.

How long had he been staring at the graffiti? Minutes? Hours? It seemed like forever. Bright yellow letters on red brick.

THE END IS NOW.

He could still smell the paint. He touched it, and it came off on his fingers. He smeared it on a clear spot on the brick, and forced himself to snap out of it.

The map had gotten Alex Cole through the streets of Empire City, AKA Emp City, AKA the New York City AKA the Big Apple. Alex wasn't sure if it mattered, really. He had found himself taking shortcuts that weren't on the map, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he would be able to recognize a street or two before long.

Why did he recognize the streets of the city, but not his own name?

There had been people scrounging around in the trash. Alex wondered how much the normal logistics of Eecee had been damaged by whatever event. If there had been a power outage, like most of the city seemed to be going through, food would've started to spoil, and canned goods would've skyrocketed in value, likely leading to some ugly confrontations -

Cole forced himself back on task.

Zeke lived in an apartment building, with parking spaces in front of it. There was a sedan on the opposite side of the street, with no markings of any kind. Nothing on the mirror. No bumper stickers. Some LEDs on the back of the mirror, and when Alex kneeled and pretended to tie his shoelace, more lights were visible behind the grille.

Okay, the Watch had beaten him to Zeke.

He would have to catch up in a hurry, then.

As Alex straightened up, he noted that there was a beat-up coupe with little bowling pins hanging from the rearview, right in front of the building.

_"It's all in the wrist," says Zeke._

_Alex is in his early teens, and Zeke is about the same age. Inside the memory, his brother feels almost like a stranger. Like someone Alex was just getting to know._

_Zeke makes his approach, surprisingly graceful for a guy who's frankly, a little fat, and makes a perfect strike_.

_"There!" he says with satisfaction, and sits back down. "Your turn."_

_A few seconds later, Alex is lying flat on his back, wind knocked out of him, looking up at the roof of the bowling Alex. Zeke is holding back laughter as he helps him up, and Alex feels a flash of anger -_

_"Where's my ball," he growls._

_"Dunno." Zeke looks around. "It went flying when you slipped, and I didn't - son of a -"_

_Alex looks down the lane, and sees that he's gotten a strike._

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><p>The halls of the building were dark, since the power was out in most of the city, and as Alex peered around the corner to Zeke's hallway, he saw a man in a suit standing in front of a door, backlit by the fire-escape window. Unless several MIBs with appointments in the same building had shared an unmarked car, it was Zeke's door.<p>

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><p>Kravitz looked to the left as a hooded man in a teal shirt rounded the corner from the staircase, walked down the hall, and knocked on the door opposite the one he was guarding.<p>

Then he knocked again.

One more time.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah," said the stranger. "You seen a woman come out of here recently? About five-eight, Latino, answers to Marisol?"

"Nope. Sorry."

The stranger swore. "She's not answering her phone, and I...I'm worried about her."

Kravitz thought about Molly, back in Spokane, and figured that, hey, he'd be worried if his girl was lost in Empire like that -

The stranger sighed. Kravitz still hadn't gotten a good look at his face, what with it being shaded by the hood. "You some kinda cop? Zeke in trouble?"

"Protective custody, is all." Kravitz raised a finger to his lips. "Shh."

The other man nodded. "It's cool. I know how you G-men are with your witness protection and stuff. Hey, you got the time?"

Kravitz pulled his hand out of his pocket and raised it to his eyes, he didn't notice the stranger backing up a step -

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><p>Inside the room, Berman heard a thump at the door. Both he and the subject, Mercer, looked up.<p>

"What was that?" said Mercer.

"You stay on that couch," said Berman, and spoke into his sleeve.. "Kravitz? What's going on?"

No answer.

Berman drew his gun, stepped between Mercer and the door. "Kravitz? Respond!"

Berman had looked at the door on the way in. Solid construction, not like the others in the building. Mercer was a conspiracy geek, so he had probably paid the landlord to replace it. It had occurred to Berman that the door would make a good defense point in case of a siege.

So he was pretty surprised when the door was kicked open with one blow to the lock, and the hooded man on the other side charged him.

Berman managed to get a round or two off in his assailant's general direction before the hooded man tackled him, lifting him off his feet. He was screaming something incoherent. Or maybe just screaming.

They both burst through the glass sliding door onto Mercer's balcony, sending tiny little bits of tempered glass skittering across the floor and under the railing, along with Berman's gun. There was a faint noise as it hit a car in the street below. The assailant lost his grip on Berman as they both hit the railing, and the agent bought his elbow down on the stranger's head and threw himself backward. He went with a wild right cross to the stranger's jaw, hoping to buy time to pull his Detective's Special out of his ankle holster, and was more than a little surprised when the hooded guy charged him, again, pinning him bodily against the rail.

In a move that owed less to fancy martial arts than lizard-brain blind rage, Alex grabbed the agent between the legs with his right arm, around the shoulder with his left, and threw him over the balcony facing the street.

There was a crash, and an alarm went off.

Alex sagged against the railing, suddenly weak. Barely able to keep himself on his feet -

Zeke joined him at the railing, and held out a key fob. With the press of a button, the alarm stopped.

"I was still makin' the payments on that," he said quietly.

"_'Thanks for savin' my life_,'" Alex said, in a fair imitation of his brother. The same one, he realized, that he had been using at the morgue."'_Alex, you sure are the bestest brother ever!_'"

"Thanks fo - Alex, you got shot!"

"Did I?" Alex looked down. "So I did. Huh. Looks like I'll have to go to the hospital. After all the walking I did to get here, I have to turn around and go right back."

He poked at the wound like it was on someone else's body. The pain was distant, still dulled by the fire roaring in his heart, and he barely noticed Zeke guiding him to the ground, promising to be right back with forceps and iodine. He had never performed field surgery for anyone, but how hard could it be? They'd be watching the hospitals, and he wasn't going to let Them get Their hands on his hero brother -

Alex blinked, and looked at the vibrating yellow box he was sitting next to.

Zeke re-entered the room just in time to see his brother place his hand on his generator and draw lightning from it, with a look on his face like a man who just found a cold beer in the desert. Sparks danced across the wound, and the flesh grew, knitting over it.

Both men stared at it.

Zeke swore.

"That's new," murmured Alex, and blacked out.

* * *

><p>"You don't look much like me," Alex said when he woke up.<p>

"Stepbrother," Zeke grunted.

Alex propped himself up on his elbows. Zeke had, of course, taken off his shoes before putting him on his couch, and Alex's head spun a little as he examined his stepbrother.

Zeke was shorter than Alex, and a bit broader across the chest. And stomach. And hips. He was dressed in a dark t-shirt and long slacks, with slicked-back black hair. Hipster? Rockabilly? One of those. Wearing shades, even though they were inside.

"You said somethin' 'bout the Hospital, Alex. St. Jeanne's?" Cole nodded. "That's on the other side of the island. What, didya _walk_ here?"

"I..." Alex stopped. "Yeah, pretty much. I got a major adrenaline buzz going right now, it's all a blur."

"You threw a guy off a balcony, Alex, and without even breathin' hard!" Zeke lowered his shades to look at his brother closely. "And what was that lightning stuff?"

The room started to sway, and Alex staggered, sat. "I don't remember, Zeke. I don't remember anything. I don't remember my own name. I had to look at my file in the morgue just to find you." And lie to Zeke's boss, of course, but Zeke didn't need to know that.

"And you came runnin', just to save your l'il brother." Zeke shook his head. "Barely a word to me for five years, then you bust in my door and take down the Men in Black here before they take me for a ride in their black vans."

"At least I'm good for something." Alex put his head down between his knees, staring at the worn fabric of the cheap couch. Why did he remember how to do that? "What do I do? What's my job?"

"Medical courier," Zeke grunted. "You ain't exactly happy with the position. Why didn't you become a doctor like Ma wanted?"

Alex laughed. His head was feeling steadier, and he raised it cautiously. "Do I have a girlfriend?" A pause. "Or a boyfriend?"

"Girlfriend. You're straight, far as I know. Her name is Trish-somethin'. Works for some big medical company. Cute blonde. What she's doing with you I have no idea. Who's the president?"

"Clancy."

"Who played Picard in Next Generation?"

"Ian McKellen."

"Who was the first James Bond?"

"TV, it's Barry Nelson. If you mean _Doctor No_, it was Patrick Stewart."

"Okay, good enough. You could've called."

"Phone's dead," Alex said, handing it over. "Here. Probably the battery."

Zeke pressed the power button, and the phone lit up obligingly.

"I thought you said the battery was dead."

"It _was_."

"I think I can get this working, at least partially."

"You have a lot of experience with cellphone repair?"

"Not really, but since the attack...nevermind. Lemme just try it."

Alex closed his eyes and rested. Some time later, Zeke handed him his cell back.

"I managed to save the address book, some pictures and music, but that's about it. Can't make calls. I keep a few burner phones. Here.."

"Thanks. My girlfriend, was her name Trish Parker?"

"Yep."

Alex's new phone rang for a few seconds. "Hello?"

"Trish?"

"Alex? Where have you _been_? I thought you were dead!"

"Rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated. Are you safe?"

"I'm fine. Gentek's been escorting senior researchers back and forth to apartments secured by the military. What's with your voice? Why are you all raspy?"

"Smoke inhalation. Why is the military playing security guard? Do you know which branch?" _Gather information about possible allies and opponents._

"Well, the company's a DoD contractor, so it could be National Security. They're treating the ...incident at the station as a terrorist attack. No one gets into or out of the islands, and I think they've stopped any 'non-essential' signals getting out of Amsterdam somehow. Cell phones, land lines, sat phones, ham radio. Even the bridges between the islands are locked down. And no, I don't know who they were."

"What are you researching?"

"This weird flu or whatever. The government thinks the weapon had a biological component. Anthrax, maybe, though, uh -" There was the sound of paper rustling. "I've been plotting the reported cases on my own time, and it seems closer to a radiation pattern than biological. Either way, they government sent in these guys -"

"1st Biological Warfare Command?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I ran into a few of them already."

"Anyway, these guys are the ones doing the guarding."

"Okay, as long as you're safe."

"I love you."

Alex forced the awkward-sounding words out. "Love you too. Bye." _Beep_. He stared at the phone.

"I'll pay you back for that window."

Zeke snorted. "Don't worry about it. I was just about to move out, anyway."

"Since when?"

"Since you threw a guy through my window."

Alex chuckled, and then laughed, and then something seized his throat and built up heat behind his eyes and he was sobbing. "I _killed _someone, Zeke... I _killed_ four men. They were just doing their _jobs_ -"

Zeke just laid an arm across his shoulder, a bit awkwardly, and Alex thought of his first breakup. He had been sixteen, and he hid in a corner, bawling his eyes out as quietly as he could, and Zeke and found him and comforted him by him the same way.

"Lizzie Franklin," he said.

"What?"

"Lizzie Franklin. You did the same thing when I turned into a crybaby after she dumped me."

Zeke looked embarrassed. "Aw, shucks, Alex. That's what brothers are for, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Do you have any idea where you'll go?"

"I know a guy."

"How fast can you pack?"

"Don't need to. Always have a bail-out bag ready."

"Is this a thing with you?"

"Pretty much."


	3. 1:03 In your shelter dimly lit

But all this nothing I've got  
>Is all that's keeping me tough<br>Maybe this thing I've got is enough  
><strong>- Colin Munroe, "I Want Those Flashing Lights"<strong>

**Chapter 1-****03****: ****In your shelter dimly lit**

**Fisherman's Wharf  
>31 Aug 2009 1343<br>Monday**

It was a good thing Alex wasn't claustrophobic.

He spent the ride to...wherever reviewing procedures for getting out of a locked trunk. His hands and legs were free, and he wasn't gagged, so he could always kick out the taillight and wriggle a foot, if he couldn't find the catch. If the trunk hadn't been lined in some thick insulating material by Zeke after he checked the car over for a tracker. Alex had wondered if his stepbrother was expecting to find a box with a blinking red light. Thankfully, the car had only been slightly dented by having some guy in a suit fall on it.

They rolled across what felt like a substantial bump, and to a stop a few minutes later.

"We should have some shotguns for this kinda job," Zeke remarked as he opened the trunk.

"Pulp Fiction. Clever. You been saving that?"

"Nah, it was on cable just before the lights went out."

"What's the deal with the insulation?"

"Didn't want you messing up the car's electricals. Plus, if there are people lookin' out for us, you need to keep a low-profile."

"Is that why you're rocking the Unabomber look?" Alex asked as got out of the trunk.

Zeke pulled back his hoodie. "Shades are _timeless_, man."

Alex stretched. "So, where are we?"

"The South Neon container yard."

"I probably should have figured that out from all the containers around," Alex sighed. "What, are we bunking down in some bananas?"

"Much as I need the potassium, nah. One of my friends bought an ol' container in a quiet corner of the yard, set up a gun range."

Zeke unlocked the padlock on one container, indistinguishable from the others. Inside was the usual booths, with sandbags and paper targets at the far end, and ear and eye protection nearby.

"I thought you weren't supposed to do that inside city limits?"

"You're not."

"So why is this-oh."

"'Oh' is right," Zeke chuckled. "The guy who built this place got sent up the river, and the key seems to have fallen through the cracks at City Hall."

"More friends of yours, I assume."

"I'm just a naturally friendly guy. The next one over has a few cots and a radio - he was a prepared kinda guy - and I think we can rig up the genny for power, and there's a coupla Wi-Fi networks around. Well, assuming any of them have power. I might have to get a satellite connection or dial-up, maybe."

"All the comforts of home. What's in that box you've been carrying around?"

Zeke placed the box on the counter, unlocked it, and opened it, to reveal a trio of guns. Two squarish pistols, from the cops Alex had kil-had _fought_ at the hospital-and a gunmetal-grey pistol with a rust-red grip, the last nestled snugly in its foam cutout.

Alex reached for it.

_There were medals, on the wall. Three medals, with brightly colored ribbons, all under glass._

_"Vietnam," said the older man next to him. "Want to see something special?"_

_Alex nodded. Grandpa went upstairs, and Alex tried to be a good boy (Don't touch __anything__, Mom said) before he returned with a battered metal case. He opened it, and there was a gun in there!_

_"Is that a real gun?" Alex said. He wanted to touch it. He __really__ wanted to touch it._

_"Yep. Colt M-1911-A1, Forty-five ACP."_

_Alex looked up, his eyes wide. "What does that mean?"_

_"It means it goes 'bang' and puts big holes in people. Go ahead. Touch it."_

_Alex ran a trembling finger down the knobbly texture of the grip. _

_"A weapon is not a toy, Alex."_

_Alex nodded solemnly._

_"I did what I did back then because I thought it was right. Because it was what I thought I had to do." He closed the case and snapped it shut. "If you ever decide to be a cop, or a soldier, or you ever, ever, have to take someone's life, _don't do it lightly. _Do you understand?"_

_"I understand."_

_"Good."_

"It was his heart, wasn't it?" Alex said quietly. "Grandpa's heart." He ran a hand through his curly dark hair. "How long ago was it?"

"Seven years." Zeke removed the three guns, and began spacing them out evenly along the counter, along with the clips.

_Magazines,_ corrected the cold voice at the back of Alex's skull.

"He willed it to me when he died," Zeke explained. "I'm not sure if he thought you didn't deserve it, or that you didn't need it."

Alex snorted. "Like a medical courier would need to shoot someone."

"Ain't exactly something that would come in handy at the bowling alley either."

"Yeah, I hear those bowlers get real nasty when they don't get their nachos and ugly shirts."

"Remember that riddle he used to ask?"

"Nope."

"He'd ask why Red Riding Hood had to walk if she was wearing a _Riding_ hood."

"Maybe they had sold the horse. Maybe they never had a horse, just the cloak with the hood. Maybe her Mom didn't want her to take the horse out just to get to Grandma's."

"There are wolves in the wood. She'd be safer on a horse than on foot. Story just plain don't make sense."

The other two guns were Glock 17s. He picked up one of them, checked that the safety was on, dropped the mag, checked the mag, put down the mag, checked the chamber, and threw the sparking magazine away just before it exploded with a series of deafening thunderclaps, magnified by the small space.

Both men stood in silence for a few seconds.

"Huh," said Zeke. "That's new."

"I figured."

"Probably has somethin' to do with your electric powers."

"Which means I can't handle a loaded gun."

"Did pretty well at St. Jeanne's."

"That was close combat, for only a second or two, and I took them by surprise. If I was fighting someone at range, or in a Faraday Cage..."

"Wuzzat?"

"Basically a special type of fenced-in box that can block electronic signals and electricity." He leaned against the wall of the container. "If someone was in one of those and shooting at me, what would I do? Spit on them?"

"Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you do that lightning thing again? On purpose this time?"

Alex frowned. He closed his eyes, imagined the power he had felt earlier. Something gathered in his chest, surged toward the hand on the wall, and out of his fingers, leaving brilliant blue sparks where they jumped from him to the metal.

"Whoa," said Zeke softly.

Alex took his hand off the wall and looked at it closely. It looked normal. Skin wasn't even singed. He focused and pushed again, and little arcs of lightning began to jump between his fingers.

"This container must be grounded somehow," he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. He aimed his arm downrange, at one of the paper targets, and pushed harder.

Flashing blue arced toward it, destroying it instantly.

Both men stared at the paper floating through the air. Alex slowly lowered his arm and let the glow fade.

"Know what?" Zeke said.

"What?"

"I _really_ wish I had somethin' clever to say right now."

* * *

><p><strong>01 Sept 2009 0116<br>Tuesday**

Alex stared at the ceiling above his cot.

He had asked Zeke to tell him about the attacks, and his brother had told a story, best as he could, about the explosion or whatever it was at a train station, killing thousands and leaving a giant-crater. Weird thing; it knocked out power to most of the city, or at least three of its islands; Neon, which they were on, the Warrens, and Amsterdam. No one had claimed responsibility yet, the military had moved in, and shut down the bridges off the island and out of the city. Amsterdam was in complete lockdown, and people were running low on food and supplies, cops were mostly dead or run off, gangs roamed the streets.

The city was a tinderbox.

"Look, man, I'm glad you saved me," Zeke had said, "but if it's all the same to you, I'm gonna get as far out of Emp as I can before someone lights the fuse. I know someplace safe to keep the genny, but I'm gonna get while the getting's good."

"Good idea. The best bridge out is the Stampton, right?"

"Yeah, but that's the hardest to get by. Barbed wire, machine guns-"

"We'll think of something," he had said.

Alex rolled over onto his side, and closed his eyes.

"Here, have some USDA Grade G IDs," Alex had said, tossing them to his brother. "G is for G-Man," he added, helpfully, in case Zeke didn't get it.

"I got it. Poultry scale only goes down to C." Zeke had replied as he carried the wallets over to the sliding door. The glass went crunch under his feet.

"How do you know that?" Alex had asked as Zeke raised the IDs to the light.

"Gotta friend who's a butcher. What names did you say they used?"

"One was James Goodwin, and I didn't get the other."

"Neither of these are Goodwin."

"Huh. Didn't notice."

"So how'd you know his real name? Don't tell me they were stupid enough to use them in front of you."

"No, I sucked it out of his head."

"You _what_?" Zeke had said. And Cole had explained.

"Whoa, man. You're like a, a, a lightning vampire."

"I wish I had a band so I could call it 'Lightning Vampire'. _Do_ I have a band?"

"If you play like you did in high-school, I sure hope not."

After they had gotten to the container, and the firing range, and Cole had nearly blown up a gun, Zeke had explained that the outage had done the most damage, after the loss of life and widespread property destruction, to something vital to Emp City life.

The cell phone.

"See, all sorts of electrical crap fritzed out after the blast. A lot of cells got knocked out entirely, and the ones that are left tend to act up; they don't hold their juice. Some people are using couriers if they need to send messages, and some people in the areas that have light are chargin' an arm and a leg to charge everyone else's crap. "

"What about using computers to charge them?"

"Desktops are out, and laptops and battery backups are just as messed up, unless they were disconnected or off. So gennies-" He had patted the yellow box next to him, "-are the next best thing to gold. Even then, you can't charge everything from a USB port. I've heard some talk about solar power, but I've seen the plans, and it ain't nearly enough."

"You went from being Mr. Fixit for a bowling alley to evaluating alternative energy sources?"

Zeke had shrugged. "Just seemed obvious, is all."

"Can you tell me anything about Goodwin and his partner? Or this First Biological whatever-whatever?"

"Nah, man. I can't even tell whether they're the military type of division, or the org-chart type of division, not unless I can find an internet connection."

Alex opened his eyes. The mattress was thin, and lumpy, and he was pretty sure that there had been rats nesting in it up until recently. Luckily, there had been two of them, so he and Zeke hadn't had to play "who's the bigger martyr" over who would volunteer to sleep on the floor.

Alex closed his eyes.

_The mask makes the air taste like rubber, but I keep it on._

_I'm almost out of ammo, I don't know where my squad is, and I'm pretty sure there's a freak in the store with me._

_I grin under my mask. I'm in the First Watch. Safe is for everyone else._

_I kick the door behind me. It won't lock, not bent out of shape by whatever it was that hit it, but I don't want the air to carry my scent._

_Something crunches near the counter. Looking up the aisle, past the bike locks knocked off their hook, I can just make out something on the floor-_

_Looks like freak likes trail mix._

_I crouch-walk towards the front of the store, my MP5 up, finger just off the trigger._

_Ugly crosses the aisle, and I freeze. I can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but hope he doesn't turn right and notice me. I'm not sure I can take him, even with the dum-dums._

_I back away, toward the door. I had been expecting a Walker, not ugly. This guy has enough muscles and big, big claws. Enough to hunt me down and eat me for breakfast._

_I make sure not to knock anything down while I make my "tactical withdrawal". That would be a rookie mistake. Also a rookie mistake? Not looking behind me._

_My first clue is a growl._

_I look behind me. Another Hunter. This one doesn't have claws, just a pair of long blades, and a look on its face like the one I get with a bacon cheeseburger on my plate._

_I open fire._

_The dum-dums do better than I expected. I start firing before I'm on target, and my first burst chews through Ugly 2's right arm. Or leg. Or whatever. As it starts to collapse, I spin back to Ugly Classic and fire off my last three rounds before the gun goes dry._

_Perfect._

_The 45 draws and chambers smoothly, and I point it at the Hunter. It's moving sideways, on all four feet, like a cat trying to keep an eye on its prey._

_Pounces like one too._

_Feet together, legs stiff. I twist away at the last second, and its claws catch on one of my pouches and pulls me to the ground._

_I empty the mag into Ugly's side, the only part I can reach with him doing his best to pin me. They're just regular .45s, not expanders, and it's hard to tell if he even notices. I drop the gun and reach for something, anything, and he notices when I hit him with the heavy bike lock. He notices enough for me to get out from under him, to grab Crystal Ugly's arm-blade and jam it into the first Hunter's mouth. He looks up at me, and I swear he just looks plain confused before I snap a kick to the blade, which, naturally, severs the tendons holding its mouth open and puts a nasty hole in the back of its mouth. It makes a keening sound, like a puppy hit by a car._

_"Not as good as trail mix, is it?" I yell, and hit it with the lock again._

_I put Gina's face on it, and hit it again. And Cross's, and hit it again. And dead old Dad, and hit it again, and again, and the lock gets slippery with blood, until arms in BDUs grab me and haul me away._

_"Cleanup, aisle two," I say, giddy laughter bubbling up my throat like rabies. I'm still laughing as more backup arrives._

Alex opened his eyes. He was still lying on his bed. He hadn't moved. His stomach was rebelling, but all in all, he was doing a lot better than he had the last time.

There was a faint popping noise from somewhere outside.

Alex closed his eyes, and eventually fell asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Next time on inPrototype:<strong> Alex and Zeke face their first real battle, and go for a jog.


	4. 1:04 EXIT

Trusting in what you can't see,  
>Take my lead I'll set you free.<br>**-"City Escape", Sonic Adventure 2**

**Chapter 1-04: EXIT**

**Stampton Bridge, Neon approach  
>01 Sept 2009 1034<br>Tuesday**

The flower seller watched the two men approach the crowd at the Stampton Bridge, and, once again, glanced at the massive gate that had replaced the tollbooths. Of course, there were plenty of people in the area. Some staring angrily, some muttering, some huddled masses, yearning to be free. People with lives Outside, with families to get back to, families that didn't know if they were alive or dead.

He knew how that felt.

These two, though, they were different. The shorter one was armed, but so was he, so were a lot of people on the bridge. The taller guy dressed like an athlete; light pants, running shoes, sweatshirt with the hood down. He moved through the path of least resistance, his friend following in his wake. No visible weapons, but for some reason the florist kept thinking of a shark.

The speakers on the gate suddenly came on, just as the two newcomers arrived at the mostly-clear area in front of it.

"_This area is under strict quarantine. Lethal force is authorized against unauthorized personnel. This is your final warning._"

Then it repeated in Spanish and Cantonese.

"Nice to see 'em embracin' diversity," the shorter guy said. "How'd they get this gate built so fast?"

"Pre-fab?" said the other.

"That'd work, if you knew ahead of time you'd need a gate for this particular bridge. And this looks like a real professional job, not something the Army Corps of Engineers threw together last night. Even got a camera, so they can when tell the natives are getting restless." He waved at it, beauty queen style.

"Can you get it open?"

"Maybe...I dunno. Maybe they accidentally left a big red lever that says 'GATE CONTROL'."

"That'd be nice of 'em," the florist said as he walked up to them, "but I'm not counting on it." He stuck out his hand. "Ron Rosen, flower salesman."

The smaller of the two shook first. "Zeke Mercer, repairman."

The other guy seemed to be concentrating as he shook. "Sly Cooper, between jobs."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Like the video games?"

"What? Never heard of them."

"My son used to have them on his PlayStation. He had to sell it when the divorce went through and he went to live with his mom in Jersey." He sighed. "Son, if you're going to use a fake name, at least make it a good one."

"Sly" stared at Ron for a second. "Let's try this again. Alex J. Cole."

Ron shook. "Pleased to meet you. That was a pretty good one, but most people don't give their middle initial."

Cole smiled a little. "I'll keep that in mind." He looked around. "Where'd Zeke go? Oh, there he is. Zeke!"

"Cole, I think I got it! Look!"

Cole went. Ron followed, a few feet back.

"See that box up there? Fry it."

There was no way Cole could do anything electrical from down on the ground, Ron thought. Maybe he would climb up, somehow. Why was he raising his ar -

"Huh," said Ron a few seconds later, and managed to close his mouth. "No wonder you don't want to tell everyone your real name."

Mercer made a guilty face. "Uh...yeah. Alex shoots lightning out of his hands."

"Thanks for the update," Ron growled, as his heart stopped feeling like it was about to jump out of his chest. It hadn't really been _that_ loud, just...surprising.

"Gate's opening," Cole said, like he hadn't noticed the two men.

The crowd, which had backed up when Cole threw lightning, was starting to move forward. Ron drew his Ruger, held it next to his leg on the side away from the gate. Then he edged backward, keeping the sliding wing of the gate between him and whatever was on the other side.

Which, as it turned out, was a machine gun.

The sound of a Browning 50 Cal made Ron cover his ears, just like old times. It felt weird to be on the bad end of the M2. It felt even stranger to watch Cole be flung back by the bullets tearing through his body. No, not strange at all. That hollow feeling in his gut, yeah, that was way too familiar.

The gun stopped.

Alex groaned.

Ron tried not to look. He had seen men hit by a fifty before, and it hadn't been pretty. He didn't look, even when he heard Cole dragging himself out of the line of fire.

"Hey."

Ron jumped.

"You okay?" Mercer said. He was crouched next to Ron, his forty-five out.

"I'm-" Ron swallowed. "I'm sorry about your brother."

"Don't worry about it. You gotta gun?"

Ron drew. His hand was shaking. _Hello adrenaline, my old friend_.

"A twenty-two?" said Mercer, who was pretty chipper for a guy whose brother just got mowed down by heavy weaponry. "Really? You want to _tickle_ 'em? These guys are probably wearing body armor!"

"It's a target gun. I have some heavier hardware back at the ranch, but I needed to stay mobile."

There was an electrical crackle from Cole's direction, and Ron looked. Alex rolled over onto his back, coughed some blood, and started to stand -

"What-"

"Like I said, don't worry about it."

Cole was up, leaning against the gate, where the gunner couldn't see him, looking stronger and angrier by the second.

"He's-" Ron swallowed. "He's pretty lively for a guy who just got shot with a fifty-cal."

"That's my brother," Zeke said. "Likes to keep active. Get a workout."

Ron closed his eyes. Focus. He needed to focus. Okay. The enemy had a good position, and, of course, they had knowledge of what the people outside were doing.

He raised his gun and shot out the camera.

Had. Of course, _he_ still didn't have any idea what was going o-wait a minute.

Ron pulled his cell phone, turned on the camera, pointed it around the gate.

"Ron?" Cole rasped. "What are you doing?"

"Getting the lay of the landscape. Can you get over here?"

"Gimme a sec."

Cole snapped two bolts at the unseen gunner, and sprinted across the gap. No return fire. The man on the gun must've been flinching from all the lightning getting thrown at him, which they probably hadn't used in basic.

"Hey," he said, as he reached the far side.

"Hey," Zeke said.

"Hey," Ron said. "Lookit."

Most of the width of the bridge was taken up by a container someone had rudely dropped there. There was a gap to the right, about the length of a particularly pretentious SUV. In the middle of it was a man behind a machine gun, with a clear shield made from reinforced plastic. He was aiming where Cole had been when Ron had shot the video.

"I think I got a chance if I can get to the top of that container. But first we need to take out that camera - oh. Which one of you-ah. Good job, Ron. Okay, I'm gonna go plow the road."

He backed up, then sprinted through the gap.

The gunner, whoever he was, was too surprised to shoot before Alex leapt toward the roof of the container, fingers catching the rust-pitted steel. He was out of the line of fire, unless the gunner had a handgun or rifle or something and left the big gun. Best to assume the worst.

Alex pulled himself up, and caught the edge of the container with his foot. As he rolled onto it, something pressed into his back. A piece of rebar.

Alex grinned. Perfect.

* * *

><p>There was a yell, and a weird kind of meaty, crunchy noise. A few seconds later, Cole shouted "Move up!" Ron gestured for everyone else to stay put, and he and Mercer moved up.<p>

The cameras on the other side didn't track them; Ron figured the guy standing on top of a container throwing lightning out of his hands was distracting whoever was watching. It was certainly distracting the guy at the next emplacement, and Ron and Zeke reached cover unmolested.

Which left the guy at the _first_ turret.

Ron stared at the dead man, at the object sticking out of his neck. The rebar was wet where it met the body, and didn't move when Zeke poked it with his Colt.

"It's in there," he grunted.

Ron, his jaw hanging open a little, pressed the heel of his hand against the bar. Zeke was right; it was deep in. In fact, Ron was pretty sure that he could feel it grinding against something.

He stopped touching it.

"How long has your brother been doing stuff like this?" He asked, as he scrubbed his hand on his shirt.

"Since yesterday morning.".

"Fast learner."

Both men jumped as something knocked on the container wall above their heads. Turned out to be Cole.

"Alex, did you do this?" Ron asked.

"You see anyone else crazy enough to jump off a shipping container with a piece of rebar to stab a soldier in the neck?"

Come to think, Ron thought, Cole was grinning a little too hard.

"Found some more rebar."

"Gonna stab him again?"

"What? No, he's neutralized. It's too small for that anyway. I'm going to create a distraction."

"For what?"

Cole raised an eyebrow.

"Oh."

"Why don't they have proper roadblock?" Zeke mused. "Get some of those big concrete mothers out here, slap some barbed wire on top. Probably cheaper too."

"The whole S-curves thing means any cars have to slow down, which means they get shot," Alex said, without thinking. "And anyone on a motorbike is basically a sitting duck. Anyone on foot..." he grinned. "Who's gonna be nuts enough to walk toward a machine gun?"

"Well...us," Ron pointed out.

"No, we're running."

Yeah, that was so much better. It meant the bullets would take slightly more time to kill them.

When Cole popped into view again, the gunner was ready for him, his rifle pointed at the top of the container. What he wasn't prepared for was an older man hosing down his shield with his fellow soldier's weapon, turning it to opaque cracks. He stepped to the right, just for a second, and behind the guy with the rifle was a fat guy with a Colt .45 -

"Down!" Cole called.

They all moved up, Zeke was breathing hard, and Ron doubted it was from the exercise.

"First kill?" he asked, as they stared down at the body.

"Yeah," Zeke grunted.

"If it helps, he would've done the same."

Beat.

"If you want to puke, just use the corner."

"Thanks," Zeke said, and swallowed. "Think I'm fine for now."

"Ron?" said someone behind them.

Zeke whirled, but kept his gun low, and thus avoided pointing his weapon at a pregnant woman.

Ron sighed, and turned to face her, look her square in those big, dark eyes of hers. "Stay back, Connie, this is no place for a lady."

The Hispanic woman raised an eyebrow. Ron felt his cheeks getting hot.

He walked over to the expectant mother. "Conchita, I need you and the others to give us some room." He was holding her hand, squeezing it a little. She looked at him with a half-smile on her face. "It's not safe. Do you _want_ to get hit by a random bullet?"

"Not again, no."

"Someday, you're gonna have to tell me one of these stories."

A full smile, now. "Maybe when we get across."

"Yeah." He let go of her hand. "Maybe. Be safe."

Ron watched her make her somewhat ponderous way back to the others, heard her start to order them back. She didn't even look twice at the bodies. Good woman. The florist turned around.

"Stop smiling, Mercer."

"I didn't say anything. What if I was smiling because it's a nice day? What if I just remembered a joke? Why, Ron, you're not _embarrassed_, are you?"

Ron coughed. "Where's Alex?"

The other - (refugees? Escapees? Runners? Monkeys in the zoo?) - were moving up, confident in the ability of their...Three Musketeers to protect them. Gunny would've put Ron's head on a platter if he knew he was letting civvies - the people he was trying to _protect_, not "civilians" - into an unsecured area.

'Course, he wasn't a soldier anymore, just a guy with a flower shop, a beer gut, and a handgun that seemed way too small.

"Zeke," he said a few seconds later, "catch."

Mercer turned just in time to keep the M4 from bouncing off of his face, but not fast enough to catch it. He juggled the assault rifle for a few seconds before getting a good grip, and glared at Ron, who was busy relieving the soldier of his ammo pouches.

"Looks like he was using a .45, same as you. Want the ammo?"

Zeke shook his head.

"More for me, then." Ron took the soldier's pistol and holster as well, stared at the dead guy for a few seconds, and stood up.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"_There, but for the grace of God..._" Ron mused, then shook himself. "Let's catch up to Alex."

* * *

><p>Ron's mom, rest her soul, had always been very religious, ever since she was a little girl. And she had been determined to have Ron grow up the same way.<p>

"After all," she would say to her husband, who would roll his eyes the second she looked away, "train up a child."

Ron had been ten before he learned the second half of the Bible verse.

His favorite verse had been Proverbs 6:6; "Go to the ant, thy sluggard, consider her ways and be wise." Lord Sluggard was a recurring figure in the little dramas Ronald would act out with the neighbor kids, or cousin Jimmy, until he learned what a sluggard was when he was nine. Still, Solomon urging his reader to action stayed with Ron all through high school, through Desert Storm, all the way to when his son was born. He hadn't thought about it for a while, in his flower shop, but it came back to mind as he looked at Alex's handiwork.

Clearly, Cole was more of an ant kind of guy.

_Suppress. Surround. Silence._

It wasn't that different from being back in the Gulf. Half the job of the guy with the light MG was to be the biggest, noisiest thing on the block, and while Cole didn't have an automatic weapon, throwing lightning bolts at people tended to attract attention. So much attention, in fact, that they tended not to notice the two guys flanking them until it was too late.

Ron felt an odd sort of contempt for the men. No...for their commanding officer. The whole setup was fine for anti-vehicle work, but a determined group of unarmed civvies could easily swarm them. There should've been another gate, with machine guns, not vulnerable positions with isolated fields of fire that could be neutralized by a repairman, some guy who was good at climbing, and a fat florist. It was like he _wanted_ his men to die.

The way time stretched and shrank? That was familiar too. It couldn't have taken them more than an hour to make their way up the bridge, but it felt like days. And they didn't manage to make it without a scratch, either.

The tail end of a burst from a SMG glanced hard off the bulletproof vest Ron had salvaged from one of the soldiers. The florist fell to the ground and gasped for air. Yeah, _that_ still hurt. Didn't feel like a cracked rib, but he needed to rest for a while.

"You okay?" Cole said over his shoulder. The guy who had fired at them was screaming as a lightning went through his body. Then he stopped.

"I'll be fine. Just...gimme a minute." And then Ron laid down, right there in the middle of the road. It was peaceful. He laced his hands on his chest. He could sit for a spell.

There was a noise. Ron turned his head, found lightning streaming from a cable Alex held. He saw the bullets drop out from under Alex's bloodied shirt, and sat up. The courier poked at himself, tested his range of motion, and dropped the cable.

Ron snapped his mouth shut. Just for something to do, he traced the cable to one of the cameras that had been hastily bolted to the shipping containers. It had stopped moving.

"Who are these guys?" Ron muttered as he got to his feet. Cole moved up.

"Whaddya mean?" Mercer asked.

Ron walked over to the dead man. His finger had locked on the trigger after Cole's bolt hit him, spraying the rest of the mag into thin air, sending it bouncing off the containers. It had somehow run dry before the ammo caught; the electricity had gone through the gun, then through the man holding it, then to the ground.

Smelt like roast pork.

The florist yanked the submachine gun free with a little more force than he needed.

"This is a TMP. It's not a normal service weapon for _any_ branch of the US Military, last time I checked."

"Don't special forces sometimes use special weapons?"

"Special forces don't usually set up barricades and guard bridges. Special forces don't usually wear black uniforms without any insignia on them, not even a nametag that says "Joe". I'll bet if we checked his underwear, it'd be off-the-shelf Fruit of the Loom."

"Plus the cameras, and the radios."

"Yeah. Those radios aren't cheap. Who sets up their radios to self-destruct if you take 'em without putting in a code? And if they have cameras watching, why don't they use the radios to warn their men? Why do they have the fences on both sides? Do you have any idea who these guys are?"

Zeke sighed. "Yeah. One idea. Tell you later. Let's catch up."

They found Cole engaging one last black-clad soldier. The man had pulled out what looked like an old-school Fairbain knife, from WW2. He slashed at Alex, who evaded the first strike, slapped away the second, and got his hands on the man's wrist and elbow for the third.

Ron watched his face. It was cold, and empty, and didn't change as he engaged the soldier's wrist in a lock. Didn't change when he did something to the man's elbow. Didn't change as he used his two points of leverage to make the soldier drive his own knife into his throat.

Then it changed, to the look of a man waking up from a dream. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd been sleepkilling.

Cole stared at the man he had just killed - he was still making a kind of wet, wheezing noise, clutching at his neck, trying to hold onto his life for a few seconds longer - then down at himself, at the blood on his clothes, his hands. He looked up, startled, when he realized Zeke and Ron were there, tried to scrub his hand dry on his pants.

He gestured at the dead man, with something that looked kind of like a smile. "He...he couldn't cut it."

There was a brief silence.

"What _are_ you?" Ron whispered.

Alex blinked. "Good question. Let's...let's go."

There was no more opposition between them and the barrier in the middle of the bridge.

"End of the line," Zeke grunted.

"Anyone see another box?" Alex asked.

"There's something different here," Ron said. "The gate's bigger, and the last one didn't have those panel things on top. You could drive a truck right through there."

"So this is more of a loading gate?"

"More of a, uh, 'redoubt'?" Ron made a face. "Fallback position. I miss Wikipedia."

"What about that door over there?" Zeke pointed at an unobtrusive hatch toward the side of the barrier. Steel door, glass window, keypad next to it, camera bubble above.

"Well, lets try and imagine. Let's say you're sitting behind that door, and you see someone messing with the keypad, trying to break in. What do you do?"

"Shoot 'em."

"What if they're in an APC or something with armor?"

"They can't drive a truck through that doorway. There's probably a hallway or something on the other side. Where I can shoot them."

"What if they try for that gap in the fence, by the barrier?"

"While they're trying to get through that barbed wire, shoot them. Or let them jump." Zeke snorted. "Probably break their neck."

"Seems like that's all the angles."

"Not really. You'd need someone to cover the...way in..."

Something went 'click' at the back of Ron's mind, and the whole setup suddenly started to make a lot more sense.

Cole eyes narrowed. "Like containers full of soldiers."

Zeke blanched.

"Yeah," said Ron, "That'd do the trick."

"So why haven't they -"

There was the sound of a pair of big, heavy metal doors opening. Several pairs.

_Connie_, Ron thought. He had to get to her -

There was a grinding noise, and all three men looked around wildly; the panels above the gate were sliding back.

"_Zeke!_" Cole yelled."_Get down_!" He leapt for his stepbrother.

The machine guns that emerged couldn't depress quite far enough to hit the two men falling to the ground.

But they could hit Ron.

There was a sound like God coughing, and something warm spattered over the two men.

They just stared at the body, as the machine guns chattered, as they heard the unseen men engaging the unarmed people who had just wanted to get to safety -

_They will panic_, said the quiet little voice in the back of Alex's mind._ Tramplings and other injuries will occur. The soldiers have left them nowhere to run_.

_Good_, chimed in Goodwin. _The Watch gets it _done.

"What..what the -" sputtered Zeke.

"It was a trap, Zeke," Alex growled. "The whole thing was a trap."

Zeke swore. "Can those machine guns get us?"

"Nah, they can't point that far down."

"So we're safe?"

There was a noise from the other side of the "airlock". People were coming. Military-sounding people.

"Don't move. Go limp. And keep your eyes closed until I say so."

Zeke would've pointed out he was lying on his rifle and it was _really_ uncomfortable, but the soldiers were coming out. They didn't move out like a SWAT team, cheaking their sectors and stuff, but with a swagger. Or so Zeke assumed, since his head was facing the other way. One stopped next to the brothers.

Zeke tried not to breathe.

He heard the sound of someone unbuckling their holster, and the two flat bangs of a double-tap into Alex's back. Then a rustle as the soldier bent over the two men. He was gonna Dee-Tee Zeke as soon as he got rid of Cole -

Alex moved-

Zeke covered his head and tried not to look like a target as gunfire rang out. Along with screams, lightning bolts, and cries to "shoot him, shoot him, _shoot him_!"

Eventually, it went quiet, and Alex called "Zeke!"

It seemed he had been busy.

Zeke tried not to look at the bodies.

"Now what?" Zeke waved at the dead men. "They're not exactly gonna let us into their parlor after this."

"I'm getting you out of here."

"How?"

"Can you swim?"

"Yeah, but-_no_."

"Got any wireclippers?"

"_No_. I am not jumping in the river, Alex! It's a ten-story drop! I'm pretty sure I'd die!"

"More certain than bullets?"

"Well...no...but-"

"Zeke, those soldiers back there are going to realize what happened any time now! We need to get you out of here!"

"What do you mean, 'me'?"

Cole reached for a dead soldier's belt, pulled the pin on anything that felt like a grenade, threw him at the barbed wire next to the doorway, ducked.

When the smoke cleared, there was a gap in the wires just big enough for a large-ish repairman, assuming he didn't mind risking a few scrapes. Neither man wanted to look at what had been the soldier's body.

"Go, go!" Alex yelled. "Feet first! Cross your arms!"

"Aren't you comin'?"

"Don't feel like a swim! Stop arguing! I'll be fine! Go!" He tried to smile.

Zeke tried to smile back, got a running start, and ran for the gap in the fence.

Later, the accounts of the two men would differ at this point. Zeke insisted that Alex had it wrong; that he wasn't crying. If anything weird had been going on in the facial area, it was plain old worry and sweat about running into the wire, that was all.

Cole waited for the splash, and then ducked into the doorway.

There was a passageway. Solid steel, no holes for anyone to pour boiling oil down on him. If any cameras were there, they were invisible. And at the far end, an identical door, this one with no keypad. The door he had come in by clanged shut behind him.

Great. Another dead end.

Cole heard the men on the other side approaching, slipped off his backpack, stretched a bit. If he was going to die in a box like a rat in a trap, he was going to die fighting.

"Form up," he heard one of the soldiers say. "Frag and clear on three. One, two-_wait_."

There was a brief silence. "Are you sure?" said the speaker. If Alex concentrated, he could almost feel the radio. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"Roger," said the unseen soldier, sounding almost disappointed that he wasn't going to get to make chunky Alex salsa. "Holding position."

Well, that was weird.

The door opened.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Alex muttered, and stepped through. He could've stayed in the box, but that didn't seem to have a high life expectancy, and he would have to use the bathroom sometime. Besides, whoever was behind all this was going a long way to not kill him. It would be a good idea, advised the cold, pragmatic voice at the back of Alex's skull, to hear them out, to gather intel.

The only thing lit up in the room was a single metal chair, bolted to the floor. Alex made his way over, what seemed to be a grating of some sort under him. Weird.

The door closed behind him.

He sat in the chair and waited.

Presently, a light came on. Behind a thick pane of reinforced glass - probably bulletproof - was a woman in a chair just like his own. Thirtyish, dressed in a pantsuit with no tie, the top few buttons undone. Her hair was cut in a severe brown bob, and her face was hard and professional. Alex saw a man behind her, but he was mostly in the shadows, though what little could be seen looked...hard-edged.

"Hello," said the woman through an intercom. "I don't think we've met. Alex Cole, I presume?"


	5. 1:05 Little Boxes

"Think like a man of action; act like a man of thought"  
>- <strong>Henri Bergson<strong>

**Chapter 1-05: Little Boxes  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Neon, Unknown Location<br>****01 Sept 2009 1142  
><strong>**Tuesday**

Zeke whipped his gun up and pointed it at the figure darkening the doorway.

"You're gonna shoot me with half your gun?" Alex said.

Zeke looked down, frowned, and put down his weapon. Or what was left of it. "Forgot I, uh, took it apart to dry it out."

"Okay. But why the diaper?"

"Diapers have this absorbent stuff in them, and - why do you care?"

"Just curious. How'd you get in here?"

"Picked the lock with a hairpin."

"I'm not sure even I could do that."

"So, where have you been?"

Alex thought for a moment. "Job interview."

* * *

><p>"You're bleeding on the floor," said the shadow man.<p>

"Nice setup you got out there." Alex said.

The woman blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You could replace those M2 turrets outside with something lighter. Probably save you a lot of money. Any vehicle tough enough to make it through the gauntlet you have out there deserves to make it through. If it's an M249, you could even use the same ammo you have in the M4s, shorten the tooth-to-tail a little."

The man tilted his head. "I'll slip it into my boss's suggestion box."

The woman coughed. "To get back on topic-"

"Which agency are you from, exactly?"

"Not relevant," said the woman, in the tones of someone running out of patience. "My name is Jones."

The shadow chimed in. "Didn't your Daddy teach you to brush your hair, in case you end up on TV?"

"I never listened to him."

"No, you didn't." The woman flipped open a folder. "Alexis J. Cole, Born September 1978 in Muncie, Indiana. Your dad left before you were born, and your mother married to a man named Darren Mercer, who had a son named Zeke. Your mom kept her maiden name, and despite your...conflicts with authority, you managed to keep your grades up enough for a scholarship to Columbia University, but you never took it. You became a medical courier instead."

"I've always been an overachiever."

"I'm not your enemy here, Alex."

"Then why are you behind reinforced glass?"

"You want to get out of the city. I want to find out who's responsible for the attack. We can both get what we want. I have your number. From time to time, I'll call you with instructions, things to investigate. What you do besides that is your business. I can even send you and your brother food, like the airdrop in Archer Square in about an hour or so. I'd also like you to keep an eye out for this man -" a light shone on a clipboard on the wall with a black and white glossy on it "- Doctor John Ragland. He may have some intel on the blast."

Alex got up, took the picture. "And if I refuse?"

"You'd better be a good swimmer," Jones said, and raised her hand.

* * *

><p>"Turned out they had the entire room rigged to drop anyone in it straight into the river."<p>

"They _what_?"

"The whole floor was hinged. The floor I was standing on was made of wire, and underneath it, they had another floor, that they opened up just to show me what would happen. They could open up the main floor too.

"I decided it was a good idea to take the job."

* * *

><p>"One more thing," Jones said. "Alex, if I can't figure out what happened, or where Ragland is, it...it won't end well. For any of us."<p>

"Nice to know I'm not the only one with his rear on the line. May I be excused?"

A door opened.

"There's a ladder to the water level, where someone happened to leave a boat," said the man.

"Lucky me."

"Not that lucky. It's a rowboat. Oh, and don't even think about going for the far shore. Our snipers know what you look like, and they have orders to stop all unauthorized boats anyway."

Alex paused in the doorway. "I think this is the point where you say you'll keep my resume on file."

In response, the lights all winked out, leaving Alex staring into a dark room.

"Guess not."

After he left, the shadowed man said "I notice you didn't mention he'd be looking your boyfriend."

"Ex-husband, and we need his intel. Let's go, Cross."

* * *

><p>"I got your voicemail as I got outside, and here I am. How'd you get your phone working, anyway?"<p>

"Diapers, man. Took it apart, dried it out."

"Maybe we should find you a waterproof case."

"Yeah, it'll sure come in handy the next time I jump off a bridge." Zeke checked the action on his pistol, then loaded it and put the safety on. "So what now?"

"We head to Archer Square for that food drop. We can't stick around this store, unless you want to live on some chips and ramen."

"Just like college."

"Except neither of us went to college."

"Details."

* * *

><p><strong>Near Archer Square<br>****01 Sept 2009 1217  
><strong>**Tuesday**

Alex and Zeke pulled into an alley, and Alex looked at his brother, who had been frowning all the way there.

"What?"

"I want my car back."

"Then you can just travel back in time and ask the thief not to steal it."

"I'd rather shoot 'em."

"That'd probably work too."

Alex let go of the car's doorframe, and got out. Looked like no one had noticed the sparks grounding themselves off the back bumper. At least it was more subtle than what had happened to the first car they hotwired.

Alex winced. All that _fire_.

"Looks like we're not the only ones who got wind of this party," Zeke said.

"Let's hope they didn't eat all the good snacks."

"Left us with some trail mix."

"Everyone takes it, 'cause there's nothing left."

They crossed the street.

"So the next time that person throws a party, they buy more trail mix and less of everything else."

"The everythin' else runs out faster, so everyone eats even more trail mix, and the cycle continues. I think I see the crate. Chute's hung up on that fancy statue."

"Never thought I'd be thankful for modern art."

"Can you get up there - what?"

Alex turned to look at his brother, who was looking at one of the giant screens they put around archer. Not as many as Times Square in Amsterdam, but it was still pretty big, and still showing Alex's face, large as life. Somehow, someone had gotten ahold of what looked like his driver's license photo.

"That's right, Empire! This is the guy who did it!" said the TV, flashing "PUBLIC ENEMY No. 1' over Alex's face.

"The Voice?" Zeke murmured.

"It's the Voice of Empire here, with an exclusive," the machine-masked voice went on. "This guy, Alex Mercer, he's the bomber. He's responsible for the blast."

Something tightened in Alex's chest. "Zeke, I didn't - I couldn't -"

_Threat rising_, whispered the little voice in the back of Alex's head.

Alex looked around. There were people approaching. A lot of people. A lot of angry looking people.

The TV switched to a security camera video of Alex. Alex dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing in the morgue. He had walked into a train station, holding a box. There was a jump, then an explosion -

"And get this, true believers; there's a reward for him. Million bucks, dead or alive!"

A flag began to wave, patriotic music started to play, and an eagle appeared in front of the flag.

"It is the proper duty of every citizen to hunt this piece of trash _down_!"

This was about to get ugly.

Alex grabbed Zeke by the lapels, and pulled him in close. "_Hit me_," he growled.

"Wha-"

"If they think we're together, and you try to defend me, they'll just beat you up too. If you're fighting me, then they leave you alone. Punch me, then run for the car."

Alex saw it sink in. Saw Zeke's brows knit in concentration, then the light dawned in them, then he drew back a little, then he kneed Alex in the nuts.

By the time Alex could focus, Zeke was already halfway out of the square. That was all he had time to notice before a rock hit him on the side of the head and knocked him toward the fountain.

There was an explosion of light.

Alex managed to pull himself out of the fountain, to find everyone staring at him like he was a walking loaded gun. He felt achy, weak. There were scorchmarks for a few feet around the fountain, and as the water dripped off him, lightning briefly flashed between the droplets.

Nobody moved.

Nobody blinked.

_Mexican standoff_.

Alex raised his arms, managed to pump a little juice through them, and sparks flicked between his fingers. Everyone drew back a little farther.

He could work with this, get out without hurting anyone. All he had to do was finesse his way out of the square. As long as nobody did something stupid.

Someone threw another rock.

* * *

><p><strong>Fisherman's Wharf<br>****01 Sept 2009 1543  
><strong>**Tuesday**

"Who's 'the Voice', anyway?" Alex said to the ceiling.

"Think Deepthroat with Internet access." Zeke answered from the next cot. "He usually leaks classified stuff, stuff the government doesn't want us to know about."

"Well, thanks to him, we're out of food. Don't suppose you know anyone?"

"Matter of fact, Barry's a butcher -"

"Great. Call him. Otherwise we're gonna be living off of ramen for a while, after all."

"You're gonna need a disguise."

"Yeah."

Alex didn't want to close his eyes. Everytime he did, he started to see someone else he had hurt on his way out the square, a body going slack as it was stunned by a lightning bolt, a face just before it said hello to his fist.

He looked at his hands. The cuts on his knuckles had already healed right up.

Had he killed any of them? Maybe. Probably. There hadn't been time to check. It was mostly a blur.

Except for the faces. Except for the smell of ozone. He'd tried to stick to punches, hadn't he? But at some point, somewhere in the blurs, someone had pointed a gun at him -

Zeke hadn't asked how Alex had escaped. Maybe he didn't want to know.

"I could shave my head," Alex said, rolling over onto his side to stare at the wall. Just for a change of pace, a little variety. He heard Zeke opening a pack of chips.

"So...what now?"

"We do what Jones says. For now."

* * *

><p><strong>Neon, Unknown Location<br>****01 Sept 2009 1704  
><strong>**Tuesday**

"So this is Mercer's car?" said Cross.

"Ah, yes sir." The aide checked his clipboard. "Vulcan left it behind before he, Zeus, and a third party mounted an assault. By the time they got back to land, we had already secured the vehicle."

"Fascinating." Cross leaned over the balcony, as one of the techs in moon suits reached in and grabbed something. They stood up holding a tiny little pair of bowling pins. "What did he do to the trunk?"

"He seems to have insulated it."

"Would that work against Cole's bolts?"

"Unknown, sir."

"Ask Research to look into that."

There was a brief silence.

The Lieutenant cleared his throat. "Sir, are you sure about this? Letting Zeus and Vulcan go free?"

"Don't worry, Parker," Cross said, and placed a reassuring hand on his subordinate's shoulder.

"Sir?"

The Captain smiled. "I'm absolutely sure that our superiors know what they're doing."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

They showed Alex the floor. They didn't show him the high-capacity sprinklers in the ceiling.

You can probably guess what's different about Zeke by this point.


	6. 1:06 The Signal

TT: Sometimes I wonder how you are ever allowed to pay for meals in restaurants.  
>TT: It must be hard to keep a low profile when you're always overhearing awed voices whisper, "It's that guy who has a blog."<br>-**Homestuck**

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>**Playing****:** Truth / Mal's Speech - Serenity Soundtrack

**The ****Voice ****of ****Empire  
><strong>can't stop, won't stop  
>Home | Archive | RSS | Reblog | Permalink<p>

**Sept**** 1****st**** 2009, 12:20 ****PM**

[ mumblr_zr1553aj1dhwvo3q_alexcolewantedposter ]  
>[ ud2njpmq5uqm2527_alexcolesecuritytape ]<br>[ y5yg4ejwpjdwj56i_alexcolejuvierecords ]

**#****terrorist**** #****alex****cole**** #****alex****j****cole**** #****freedom**** #****just****asking****questions**** #****new****york**** #****new****york****city  
><strong>This post has 456 notes

* * *

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><em>Find <em>_him__, __kill __him__._  
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* * *

><p><strong>3 <strong>**Comments**

**ThaDoc****Sept**** 1****st**** 2009 4:58 ****PM  
><strong>Are those the originals? How'd you get them?

**Voice****_****Of****_****Freedom****Sept**** 1****st**** 2009 5:02 ****PM**  
>I asked for them. Freedom of Info act, 1966. Do the research, Doc.<p>

**ThaDoc****Sept**** 1****st**** 2009 5:06 ****PM**  
>So in the middle of a terrorist crisis, the state of Indiana sent some random, anonymous guy with a Mumblr who hijacked a TV station confidential Juvvie Court records, and they got the documents to a city in full military lockdown in less than, what, a week?<p>

**Comments ****are ****now ****closed****.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter <strong>**notes****:**  
>It is remarkably hard come up with fake tumblr-sounding usernames from songs that were out in 2009 that aren't actually being actively used by people on tumblr. Incidentally, the first one is actually my tumblr.<p> 


	7. 1:07 The Man in the Mirror

And they call as they beckon you on  
>They say start as you mean to go on<br>**- Coldplay, "A Rush Of Blood To The Head"**

**Chapter 1-07: The Man in the Mirror**

* * *

><p><strong>2009-09-02 0542 <strong>  
><strong>Wednesday<strong>

The TV in the alley had been rigged up by a man named Carter, the sort who wasn't exactly well-acquainted with a fixed mailing address.

Or soap.

In another life, he had been an engineer. Then he had been an engineer with a Problem. Then with a Habit. And in no time at all, he was on a street corner.

Strange, though. After the Attack, it was like someone had set his brain on fire. He was remembering things, coming up with whole new ideas. And he had found It, and used it to rig up a TV, to try and get some news.

He tapped the rabbit ears in exactly the right way, and the screen cleared.

News wasn't good.

This Cole guy, he was public enemy number one, looked like. Real dangerous customer. Had some kind of experimental weapons.

He didn't even notice the other people approaching. Standing a respectful distance away. Or maybe just where they couldn't smell him. His first notice was when someone kicked over a bottle, and he looked up, saw the crowd, nodded.

The screen flickered as a hooded man joined the crowd.

"Think they're gonna find him?" someone asked.

"Nah, he's probably gone by now."

"How? They've got the whole city locked down! You couldn't get a mosquito out of here!"

"He's a terrorist. They have boats."

"What if he just decides to lay low and keep attacking?"

"We don't even know if he's that kind of terrorist. Maybe he was after someone."

"You think he blew up a train station to kill one person?"

"When are they gonna get the power back on?"

"Don't know. At least the water's still working."

"Don't think we're gonna get a bill this month."

A few people laughed. Felt warm. Felt good.

"How'd you get the TV working?" asked the guy in the hood.

The Box, with cables running out of it and It inside, was shoved out of sight with one foot as the ex-engineer said "rigged up a car battery".

"Huh."

Static crossed the screen, and the transient frowned. A quick smack to the side of the TV fixed the problem.

He looked up, and the man in the hood was gone.

* * *

><p>Alex was walking past the bakery when he thought it would be a good idea to pick up something for Jimmy and stopped dead.<p>

It hadn't been Goodwin's voice in his head. It had been his.

Right?

_Goodwin?_

No answer.

Something tightened in his chest, and he stumbled into an alley.

Maybe he was gone.

He reached for a fire escape.

Maybe Goodwin had never been there in the first place.

He needed some air, some height.

Something drew him upwards, the mental equivalent of, well, a piece of popcorn shell stuck in his teeth. It got stronger as he went up, then decreased -

Too far.

He went back down, moved sideways, and found it; a sliver of metal, a few inches long, embedded in the building's redbrick. It had a sort of bluish, glossy sheen, and if he closed his eyes, he could feel it...resonate, somehow.

Weird. Best to have Zeke take a look at it.

He shoved it in his pocket, and finished climbing to the top, where he sat on the corner of the building and just...enjoyed the view for a while, letting his racing heart calm down.

For example, the view of some guy in a hoodie with a gun stuck in his waistband clutching boxes to his chest. He stumbled, fell, and scrambled to his feet, losing some of his cargo in the process.

It was hard to tell from three stories up, but some of those boxes looked...medical.

Wasn't there a pharmacy nearby?

* * *

><p>From where Cole stood – or more accurately, climbed - it did not sound like an optimal situation.<p>

"Look," said a man inside the 6th Avenue Pharmacy, "no one has to get hurt here."

"I caught your boy stealing medicine," countered a woman.

"And ran him off." Sarcastic clapping. "Good job. But you were going to steal it yourself. Besides, he was just supposed to scout out the place."

"I know the owner. He wouldn't mind me saving lives."

"You saved a friend of mine, once, Doc."

"So?"

"He's in a wheelchair, now, but he's alive. So I'm giving you one chance." Beat. "Just one."

There was bird crap all over the windowsill. Alex smeared it across the brickwork with a grimace, made a note to wash his hands later, and kept climbing down.

"I'm curious. What sort of gang members need this much medical supplies?"

"Figure...healthcare is gonna be a lot more valuable soon," the thug drawled. "Me and my associates are planning to...corner the market."

Two other voices giggled.

"Healthcare," the woman said flatly. "Medicine. And doctors. You're not just here for the drugs, you're here for me."

"Like I said; _valuable_. But we'd be willing to take just the medicine and -"

As Alex reached the frame around the pharmacy's sign, he heard the sound of a shotgun cocking.

"There's no way you can take out both me and my boys," said the leader, his voice tight with controlled fear.

Alex couldn't help but wonder how the boys would feel about that. He peered over the side; the front door was open.

"Besides...don't you doctors have some kind of vow? _First, do no harm__?_"

Well, if that wasn't a setup line, Alex thought, as he silently dropped to the ground by the door.

"Maybe _she_ does," he said. "I don't."

His entrance was something of a surprise.

He went for the guy on the left first, who was just pulling a gun out of the front of his pants. Unfortunately for him, he had poor trigger discipline, and when Cole hit him with a bolt, he pulled the trigger, introducing his femoral artery to a 9mm bullet.

This also meant he would be too busy screaming to watch the fun the rest of his pals had.

The second thug, to the right of the doorway flinched as the first man's gun fired, and by the time he stopped, Alex had grabbed his left hand, twisted it behind his back, and slapped the gun out of his right hand. Then he ducked.

The leader of the trio got his gun pointed in Cole's general direction, and let off a few rounds, which hit Alex's human shield squarely in the chest, and the vitamin supplements in the B12s. Pills flew as Alex shoved -

And the leader was hit in the face with the man he had just killed.

He just hadn't finished dying yet.

Before the boss could get himself loose, Alex had already crossed to him, shoved his hand against the counter, and hit it with his free hand. There was a sound of bones breaking, and the leader started to scream -

At which point the woman in the EMT uniform hit him in the head with the butt of her shotgun. It was a nice gesture, but poorly aimed, and it glanced off the side of his head and hit the counter. Of course, given her furrowed brow, the Hindi cursewords she was yelling, and the fact that she cracked the countertop, if she _had_ been on target the thug would've spent the rest of his life unable to wipe himself. If he was lucky.

The EMT then proceeded to lean over the counter, spit on his lifeless body as it slid bonelessly to the floor, then step back and point her gun at Cole.

"Hands up, back up."

_Um_.

"In that order?"

She didn't crack a smile.

He complied.

"Look-" he glanced at her nametag "- Saya, I think you have a bad impression of me."

"You're a terrorist. I wonder why. Nice job with those guys, but get out."

She racked the slide, by way of punctuation.

"I was lucky. Caught them by surprise. Ever hear of 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'?"

"Gang members who can't even keep their finger off the trigger up against a top ten terrorist with some kind of fancy taser and the skills to take out the first guys in about ten seconds flat." The EMT cocked her head briefly. "Tough call. How about I consider you _both_ my enemy?"

Cole sighed. "Look, can I show you something?"

A curt nod.

Cole swung his bag off his shoulder, opened it up, and dumped its contents on a counter. A bunch of medical supplies, some lightly dented, spilled out.

"Now," Cole growled, "could you _not_ point that thing at me?"

Saya smiled, and lowered her weapon. "Why not? I ran out of shells yesterday."

Cole stared at her.

* * *

><p><strong>Fisherman's Wharf<strong>  
><strong>0915<strong>

"Saya said she'd help us out, best as she could, if either of us got hurt," Cole said.

"'S good. I've been hearing about other people," Zeke said, yawning. "'Scuse me. Different people. Special people. Like you."

"Like who?" Cole propped the doors of the container open with a rock.

Zeke shielded his eyes as he walked outside. "Well...I heard talk of a flaming Chinese lady."

"Really?"

"And some guy who realized he knew Muay Thai."

"...Seriously?"

"Seriously. Where'd you go after the doc?"

"Just finished my errands, you know. Trip to the hardware store, the doctor, a little grocery shopping."

"Don't _joke_ about that, Alex." Zeke patted his sizable belly.

In response, his brother reached into his bag, and pulled out a box of a dozen assorted donuts.

"Got some eggs and bread too. Couldn't carry much in my bag, so we're going to have to go back and clear out the place while the gettin's good. "

"You stole donuts?"

"I didn't steal 'em. I liberated them. They would've gone stale."

Zeke reached out.

"Breakfast later. _After_ training."

"Aw, c'mon, Alex. You know how long it took me to rig up a hotplate? I get the feeling this is gonna be one of those high-calorie days, know what I mean?"

"Sure is. Starting right now."

The mechanic looked disgruntled.

"Zeke, it's dangerous out there. You need more than just a 45."

"Worked well enough so far."

"If I couldn't heal, we'd both be dead. You think you could've made it across that bridge without me and -" His voice caught.

Zeke's eyes had gone flat. "Yeah." He coughed. "Yeah, I see what you mean. So, Professor, teach thy humble student."

"Keep your coat on. We're going to start with melee. There are six basic types of close-in weapons, so if you know how to use each type, you can most common weapons in that same area. The types are -"

Where did he even _know_ this stuff from?

" - Sticks, stones, sharps, stabs, shines, and separates."

"What about unarmed?"

"That's the advanced course. Twenty bucks extra."

"I'm not paying you in the first place."

"Then I get the honey-glazed donut."

Zeke sighed theatrically. "You're a hard bargainer, Cole. A hard bargainer."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Sticks are sticks, stones are any bludgeoning/smashing weapons, sharps are edged, slicing weapons, like knives. Stabs are stabbing weapons, like a sharpened screwdriver, shines are anything used to distract, blind, or stun an opponent, and separates are "miscellaneous", such as a garotte or taser. Weapons can fit into multiple categories, such as a crowbar (stick, stone, and if sharpened stabs). And no, this is pretty much completely made up.

The best weapon of all, as always, is information.

If you read closely, you can tell that Saya was bluffing.


	8. 1:08 Strangeness and harm

Well I'm not a trick you play,  
>I'm wired a different way<br>I'm not a mistake,  
>I'm not a fake,<br>It's set in my DNA  
><strong>- Miley Cyrus, "Can't be Tamed"<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1-08: Strangeness and harm<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>2009-09-02 1046<strong>  
><strong>Wednesday<strong>

This gun wouldn't explode.

Well, it _probably_ wouldn't explode.

"Are you sure it won't explode?" asked Alex.

"Pretty sure."

Alex glared at his brother.

"Just kidding. Look, I cleaned out the gunpowder. Every grain. Now it's just a testing tool. Right hand."

Alex dutifully, dubiously, pointed the pistol at an imaginary target, over the river.

Zeke peered at the meter he had wired on, wrote something down. "Got it. Right hand. Got it. Two handed, right-dominant. Got it. Two handed, left."

"What's the _point_ of all this, Zeke? I can't even hold a real gun."

"Well, you could always try rubber gloves."

"And then what? Then I wouldn't be able to throw lightning."

"You could put a silencer on it."

"Ah. For when I still need to blow things up, but, y'know, wanna be subtle about it."

"I'm just trying to _help,_" Zeke said, stung. "You could wear it on one hand."

"Do I _look_ like Michael Jackson?"

"Kinda. Get you a wig, the right lighting-"

Zeke's computer went _ding!_

"Popcorn's ready?"

"Ah...no." Zeke hurried onto his computer. "hang on, let me just...huh."

"What is it?"

"I wrote a program to try and reconstruct your phone's texts. Looks like...message from your boss. Tells you to pick up a package from Gentek."

"The same place Trish works at?"

"Maybe. Didn't she say they were getting escorts? Those First Watch guys?"

"Yeah. Can you think of any way we can get in?"

Zeke thought. "Just one. But it's a cliche."

* * *

><p><strong>2115<strong>

"This is a _stupid_ plan."

"It's the only one we got. Now shut up and try to look like Bob Marley is your spiritual idol."

"I _hate_ smelling like weed. Where'd you even get this pizza, anyway?"

"Barry."

"I thought he was a butcher."

"Barry's a lot of things."

Funny thing. The guards at the Gentek HQ just regular rent-a-cops. They were bribed pretty easily after Cole showed them the receipt saying they got a pizza too. Heck, one was even smug about how those Watch _pendejos_ missed out on free pizza because they had too many "mission critical tasks" to guard the building at night.

"Nice guys," Cole said in the elevator.

"I can't believe I went through all the trouble of looking up a name for nothin'." Zeke cleared his throat. "When you get to the right floor, just turn on a computer and plug in the dongle."

"Heh."

"Shut up, Cole."

The elevator reached the level Alex had taken the delivery from.

"Zeke, this isn't an office floor. It's a lab floor."

"They have computers? They have slots? Well, stick it in there!"

"You have _got_ to stop giving me these setup lines," Alex muttered, as he jacked the flash drive into the nearest system.

"Okay, got it...aw. Well. Crap."

"Good news, bad news?"

"Just bad news. The security's too tight."

"I can try anothe - hang on, incoming call. Hi, Moira."

"_Prospero_."

"What? Who is this?"

"_Papa-Romeo-Zero-Papa-Echo-Romeo-Zero._"

"What's that for-"

The computer beeped.

"Uh...Alex? Your new friend just gave us the password. Downloading as much as I can."

"Who is this?"

"_Just call me Doctor_."

"Alright, 'Doc', why should I believe you?"

"_Well, if this was an ambush, I would've just put a kilo of C4 above the elevator ceiling._"

"Unless you want something from me."

"_Very _good_, Cole. Perhaps you should take a gander at room 6E. The code is 8973_."

And the conference call ended.

"You gonna do what he says?"

"Why not?"

Room 6E contained a large amount of equipment, all surrounding a cell containing a woman. On which was printed "DO NOT TALK TO SUBJECTS" in rather insistent-seeming lettering.

The woman in the cell was wearing green scrubs, and some kind of shiny bodysuit. She looked over her shoulder, with large, blue eyes, and then rose. With a balletic sweep of the leg, she spun to face Alex, tilted her head.

"_Hiiii_." she drawled. "Pay no attention to the sign." A pout. "_Meanies_."

"Alex, her name is Sasha Greene, and you need to get out of there. Now."

"That's not latex, is it?"

"No, brother, it is not."

Greene rolled her eyes. "Of course not, silly!" Her voice was oddly high-pitched for an adult woman, and she moved more like a kid. Mental damage? "Let me out."

"No."

"You have to -" She swallowed, lowered her head and bit her lip, glaring up at Alex. Her voice dropped to a normal register. "You're _going_ to let me out."

"No," Alex repeated.

"Oh." She perked back up again. "Okay!"

A pause.

"What are you up to?"

"Nothing! Honest! Funny thing, though, there's this guy next door, and they have to keep him restrained. Maybe the wires and stuff got messed up when they switched to the generator." A dramatic stage whisper, with hand cupped around her mouth. "_Maybe you should tell someone!_"

The building shook. A crack appeared in the wall.

"Whoops." She glanced at an imaginary watch. "Too late."

He tried to run, he really did, but a tornado of metal and rage went through the wall like a sniper rifle through tissue paper. By the time he realized what had happened, there was a hole in the external wall, and in Greene's box.

She poked her head out. "Drafty out here."

The debris on her floor didn't seem to bother her.

"That's a biiig drop." Her brow furrowed. "Looks like he used his magnetic powers on the building's metal to slow himself down. Smart." She stepped back from the edge. "I think I'll take the elevator."

"Wh-what.."

She placed a bare foot daintily on Alex's head and pushed him back down. "_Shhh_. Don't get up on my account. Bye now. Ooh, there's the elevator."

And she skipped out into the corridor, humming a cheerful tune.

There was a commotion outside. Alex heard at least one guard yell "freeze!". By the time he managed to get his leg clear, put some weight on it, and collapse to the ground, screaming, they had gone quiet.

His phone was ringing, and he yanked it out of his pocket.

"Zeke," he gasped. "I think I broke my leg."

"That's terrible! Is the wig okay?"

Despite himself, Alex chuckled.

_Try to make the patient laugh_, whispered the little voice in the back of his head. _Good for morale, will speed recovery_.

"You see any sockets?"

"None live. Not in sucking range."

"Well, get crawling."

Something fell from the ceiling and hit Alex on the head.

It was a sign. One that said "DO NOT TALK TO SUBJECTS".

* * *

><p><strong>2206<strong>

"_Hiii_."

Ramon looked up, through a blinding headache. He was having trouble focusing too.

The woman in front of him was wearing a quizzical expression on her face. "That looks bad. You taking something for the headaches?"

"Couldn't get to the hospital," he slurred, his tongue feeling like lead. "Too many people." From what he could see, she was wearing scrubs. Doctor?

"How'd ya get that goose egg, buddy?"

_I was robbing a pharmacy and me and my boys got jumped_.

"I got robbed. You...you got anything for the pain?"

"One more question. What was your gang's name?"

_How did she-_

"Ah ah ah!" A wagging finger. "No lying, or you won't get your dessert." Her voice dropped. "And I'll just walk away, and leave you, with light brain damage, to die in an alley."

"_L...Los Segadores_."

Her lips pursed. "The Reapers. I like it."

She reached behind her without looking, and he noticed, for the first time, the men looming, silently behind her.

"Who _are_ you?"

One of the men handed her a bottle. She pressed it to Ramon's lips. "You're going to drink up."

It was filled with something thick and bitter, something that made him sputter.

"What is this?" Ramon asked. The pain started to recede.

The woman smiled. "Mommy's special recipe."

And Ramon was exalted.

* * *

><p><strong>2009-09-03 0806<strong>  
><strong>Thursday<strong>

"Do you have any idea how dangerous Greene is?" said Moya.

"No, I don't, because _I didn't even know she existed_," Alex retorted. "All I did was go to the Gentek building to figure out who I got the package from. And it wasn't even my fault anyway."

Jones paused. "Explain."

He explained, leaving out the part about the mysterious voice on the phone. On her end of the line, he heard Moya tapping at her keyboard.

"...I see." Her voice went crisp. "We need to address the situation, Cole."

We?

"What's so dangerous about Greene, anyway?"

Moya laughed bitterly. "She can make the blast look like a skinned knee. She thrives on chaotic situations."

"Like Empire City after a bomb went off."

"Exactly. Or using another subject's escape to get out herself."

"What was that, anyway?"

There was the silence of Moya checking with someone. "That's not important right now. There's an unsupported APC trying to get back to base. We think there's a good chance it'll be ambushed."

"Why don't you warn them?" Alex had already started running.

"We tried. Oh, and Alex, those files you downloaded?"

The fugitive winced.

"Tell Zeke to delete them. Now."

Alex snapped off a sarcastic salute at the woman who couldn't see him. "Yes, ma'am!"

* * *

><p>It had been just another day at the office.<p>

Well, the office was an APC, and the Marines didn't usually deploy in the biggest city in America in the wake of a terrorist attack that was threatening to be worse than 9/11, but other than those minor details, yeah, just another day on the job.

"Foxtrot Mike Lima," Private Mike Rodriguez said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Her squadmate grinned at her. "I swear, it's a real thing!"

They both bounced as the vehicle went over a pothole.

"All right, I'll bite," said the Texan. "What does it stands for?"

"Guess," said Harper.

"Finding More Lighthouses."

"No."

"French...Men Lie?"

"Nope. Here's a hint; it ends in 'Life'."

"Life...life...life. F Means Life. F Moon Life. F My Life." Beat. "_Seriously?_"

There was a bang, and the vehicle lurched to a stop.

When the squad piled out, they found that their ride had been mobility-killed.

"Anyone got a tire jack?" Sarge quipped.

Rodriguez looked around. Her skin began to crawl; she knew a bad part of town when she saw one.

"Looks like an IED to me, boss," Harper said.

The driver, whose name Mike couldn't remember to save her life, frowned. "I need to call this in -"

Then his head exploded.

"_Get down_!" someone yelled.

Muscle memory took over, and the Texan found herself in cover, behind the bus. She peeked around the side, and got a glimpse of red before a burst nearly took her head off.

Sarge was telling Harper to suppress, which meant the rest of the squad would move to flank. They were supposed to have two SAWs, but logistics had been a complete mess. Until they got sorted out, it was just the big guy with questionable taste in jokes.

The first clue that something was wrong was Lasky nearly walking into a 9 mm bullet.

Just before he turned a corner, a round went whizzing by, even though Lasky had been out of view, as far as they knew, for his entire advance.

Then two people in red hoodies popped up in the squad's blind spot and opened fire, cutting down two soldiers instantly. The rest of the troops reflexively turned to address, but in doing so, they turned away from the primary threat. Even though it only took a few seconds to correct their error, the bad guys managed to take down Sarge.

The marines didn't like that one bit.

"Clear!" someone called, a few seconds later.

Harper rose from their commander's lifeless body, where he had checked the pulse. He shook his head at Rodriguez.

She grimaced. "Son of a -"

* * *

><p>"Moya, did you notice?" Cole said, from a rooftop overlooking the skirmish.<p>

"Yes. Why would members of a gang attack soldiers? They had to know they were outgunned."

"Stupid, maybe. But that's not what I meant. They were too...coordinated."

Beat. "Explain."

"They found the hole in their flank, and the second their forces caused a diversion, they took down the squad leader."

"That's...competent of them."

"Exactly." Cole snorted. "Most gangbangers can't even remember not to hold their gun sideways."

"So...How do you think they did it?"

Alex's eyes narrowed. "I dunno. Radios? Maybe they have someone on overwatch. Probably someone in a window or on..." he stiffened "...a _roof_ - "

An arm wrapped around his throat from behind. He immediately went limp, keeping his assailant from consolidating their choke hold, dragging them off balance. Then he grabbed at their thumb, pulled it away from him, got in a lock, and turned around.

He was being attacked by a figure in a faded red sweatshirt, its hood concealing their face in shadow. He pushed then to the parapet.

"_Who are you?_"

"Alex, what are you doing?" Moya asked.

"Talk!"

"'Kay!" said a familiar tone.

"Is that -"

Couldn't be.

Cole ripped off the hood, to reveal a Hispanic man who nonetheless had the exact cadences and facial expressions of Sasha Greene.

"_Hiii_," he said. "I made new friends!"

Cole was dimly aware of his handler panicking in his ear, but that didn't seem important just then.

"Greene? How are you doing this?"

"Spoilers." The man put a finger to his lips. "Why don't you ask your friend there?"

"Moya? What's she talking about?"

"Cole, I need you to not ask questions, and to wait for pickup."

"Did she just do the 'don't ask questions' thing?"

"Quiet. What kind of pickup?"

"Oooh, no, I can't stick around. I have an appointment. About three stories down."

His hand bunched in Cole's shirt.

"Right now."

* * *

><p>Mike's team had just called "clear!", when two men fell out of the sky and landed on their ride.<p>

Some swearing later, someone finally thought to ask where they came from, if they were suicide victims.

"No, look," Mike said. "This guy's in the same hoodie as the rest of the gangbangers. I think the other guy saw he was on overwatch, got pulled off when he tried to stop him. See if Red has a radio."

A Bluetooth headset fell to the floor.

This was because the guy in the grey hoodie was getting up.

"Hey, he's alive!" someone called. "Sir, hold still! You may have internal injuries! "

Grey cocked his head, as if listening to the voices. "Sounds about right." He still climbed down off the vehicle, moving faster by the second. Mike, when asked later, said she would've squirm she heard the sounds of his flesh stitching itself together.

His hood fell off. She recognized the face.

"It's Cole!"

The tension ratcheted up a few notches. Some of the soldiers took a step back.

Cole, for his part, looked more embarrassed than anything else, which was a weird reaction to have when a bunch of jumpy Marines are pointing guns at you. "Uh, yeah." He raised his hands. "You got me."

She saw how his eyes were shifting rapidly, looking for an exit, an angle. _Not so sure we do_. "Facedown, now."

Behind him, something rolled out of the gangbanger's hand. The Texan heard the _ping_ of the grenade's spoon bouncing off something, yelled "_frag!_", and dove for cover.

The nearest cover was a recessed doorway, and so she had a good view of Alex Cole disassembling her squad.

He thought the grenade was theirs, a cold little part of her brain noted, as the heel of Cole's hand drove into Harper's nose, probably sending shards of bone into his brain. Or maybe it was the fact that several members of the team had assumed it was _his_, and opened fire.

Cole grabbed the SAW from Harper's nerveless fingers, and tossed it at Wilchinski without looking, while he lifted the soldier, one-handed.

Or maybe he was just taking advantage of an opening.

The terrorist didn't even flinch as the automatic weapon exploded, reducing Wilchinski's legs to hamburger. They screamed, as Cole used Harper's body to shield himself from the other Marines' fire. He charged them, tossing the body at Stokes, then whipping Harper's sidearm - when had he gotten _that_? - at Lasky and Perry with enough force behind it to break Lasky's cheekbone, knocking the sense out of him. As it flew past Perry, she flinched, only for Cole to point his hand at her and _shoot lightning_ -

Rodriguez needed to get out of there.

She turned her weapon - and its underbarrel shotgun - on the doorknob. One blast later, she shouldered the cheap door in, closed it, as Perry died screaming behind her, and collapsed. She leant against the door, sobbing with rage, with fear.

One man.

One man had taken down her entire team, and reduced her to the last girl in a horror movie.

Did the door have a deadbolt?

She reached up to check, when something hit her in the back, sending her speaking across the floor.

It was Cole, and his foot came down on her weapon, breaking the shotgun and sending it skidding toward her. She reached for it automatically, started to lift it -

He raised his hand, silently, and electricity jumped between his fingers. Didn't even seem to notice the spreading stain of red in his side.

She raised her other hand, pointing it, and the shotgun, at the ceiling.

The terrorist looked uncertain, as if he wasn't sure what to do with a prisoner.

Then she fired her gun at the sprinkler .

It was a guess, nothing more. She was going to die anyway, even if it was trying to put a bullet in the freak's back as he left, do she was rather pleased, as the water came down, to see him light up like a Christmas tree.

It looked like it hurt.

Good.

A few sparks jumped toward her, and she hastily crawled backwards. By the time she thought to put some buckshot in Cole, he had already made it to the doorway. She fired at him as he moved out of view, just to keep him honest.

And then there was silence.

Relatively speaking.

Mike kept her weapon trained on the doorway until she was satisfied he wasn't coming back, then lowered it abruptly as she realized how much the recent little excitement had taken out of her. What The Book said she was _supposed_ to do was rearm, assess the situation, and find someone to check in with.

What she was _going_ to do was lie down for a minute.

Just a minute.

"_Foxtrot Mike Lima_," she said aloud.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes<strong>: When I planned this out, Sasha was going to be the usual creepy, sexy, crazy, vaguely motherly reverse-Oedipal sort of character.

Then I started writing it, and she somehow turned into "evil Pinkie Pie fused with Sherlock's Irene Adler fused with Poison Ivy".

Investigations are ongoing.

Incidentally, it helps to have a character's voice in your head.

It's pretty easy to figure out who Mikey is based on. Hint: Same (full) name, same state of origin, different job.


End file.
